


Shelter of Old

by mokuyoubi



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Christmas setting, Dysfunctional Family, Family Issues, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 10:36:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5536721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will and Hannibal need a place to lay low for a few hours, and unfortunately, Will has just the spot in mind...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shelter of Old

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Пристанище прошлого](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6282502) by [Ardel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ardel/pseuds/Ardel)



> For [ripleyandthecat](ripleyandthecat.tumblr.com)'s prompt: Will and Hannibal visiting Will's dad for Christmas and introducing themselves as a couple and how that all works out maybe incl the previous publicity on the murder and the husbands :-)

“I never intended to do this,” Will mutters, as he pulls up to the crumbling curb and puts the stolen car into park. 

He’s driven them twenty blocks from their hotel, away from the affluent, white neighbourhoods. There was a non-descript undercover car across the street from the entrance when they arrived, and Will just kept driving. Hannibal is absolutely certain the authorities don’t know who it is they’re after, or they never would have bungled the operation so thoroughly.

Will, who apparently has more than a passing familiarity with these streets, drove like a man who knew precisely where he was headed. The neighbourhood is, to use a colloquialism of the locals, rather shady. Certainly not the most dangerous Detroit has to offer, but the houses here have seen better days--green-stained siding, cracked windows, front stoops littered with spent beer cans and broken bottles.

Hannibal takes in their surroundings as Will leads him down the uneven sidewalk. There are scattered Christmas decorations, no doubt an attempt on the part of the residents to bring some cheer to this desolate stretch of city and failing miserably. The chipped, fading lawn ornaments have seen better days, the gaudy strings of lights are more out than not.

“The car will be gone and stripped within the hour,” Will says. By the time the authorities know it’s missing, it will be as though it never existed. A thorough, if inelegant, solution to their predicament.

Will leads them around the corner to a single story house painted a faded yellow. This house is undecorated. There’s a broken glider on the front porch, and the screen door is torn and hanging crookedly from its hinges. Hannibal can sense Will’s emotions as he climbs the steps and raps three times on the doorframe, lips pulled in a tight line. Disgust, sadness, and most intriguingly, embarrassment.

There’s shuffling from inside. Hannibal could hear the television from the street. This close to the house, he can distinguish the words. Some nature channel programme. An older man is grumbling. Hannibal can smell the faint scent of rot under saltwater, and when the door opens, he is hit with a waft of whiskey and old books, their pages musty with age.

He is bald on the crown of his head, his remaining hair thin and greying brown. His skin is dark and worn from sun exposure. Wrinkles deep around his eyes and in the space between his brows speak of decades spent squinting into the light and frowning, but the lines carved around his mouth speak of an easy, friendly smile.

Though most others might not notice the similarities, there is little else Hannibal can see but _Will_ in the shape of the man’s brow, his cheekbones, the curve and slope of his mouth. And in seeing this man, Hannibal can fill in all the gaps left behind and begin to draw a mental image of the woman who contributed equally to the genetics of his Will.

“Dad,” Will says, tone resigned.

“Will,” the man says, voice rough. He darts a glance at Hannibal, then behind them, up and down the street. After a moment he swings the screen door outward. “You’d probably better come in before someone calls the cops. Don’t get a lotta visitors around here this time of night. Least not welcome ones.”

They come in, standing awkwardly in the cramped, cluttered entrance. “Thank you, Mister Graham,” Hannibal says. He tries to keep the keen edge of excitement from his voice.

The elder Graham--George, Hannibal knows from Will’s files--looks up at him through narrowed eyes. Poor eyesight; Hannibal knows there is nothing more to read into it than that. The man heaves a sigh and turns his back on them, gestures over his shoulder for them to follow him down the hallway.

“I’ve been wondering when you might be payin’ me a visit,” George says. The hall opens into the kitchen, all dingy peeling wallpaper and worn formica countertops.

Will heaves a sigh, but doesn’t refuse the tumbler of cheap whiskey his father passes him. Hannibal gracefully accepts the one offered to him, forces himself to take a sip though it takes like so much shoe polish. “And why did you think I’d be visiting you, Dad?”

“You think I haven’t been keeping up with you, kiddo?” George asks, words forming raspy as he swallows his mouthful of whiskey. “Kept all the clippings from your days on the force, and when you was working with the FBI, but these days it’s hard to keep up with all they’re writing about you.”

“And what,” Will scoffs, “You though I’d be coming here to hurt you?”

George shrugs. “Thought had occurred to me.” His gaze flicks to Hannibal briefly, the first sign of fear since their arrival flashing briefly across his face. “It’s not like I’m inclined to believe half the shit I’ve been reading, but when you’re keeping company with the sort of fella you are... “

Will rolls his eyes and George forestalls his protests, “Now, they say your...friend here has a particular sort of victim profile, and who knows what you’ve been telling him about me.”

“ _Dad,_ ” Will says, and it’s astonishing how a forty year old man can sound so much like a petulant teenager. 

It isn’t until just then that Hannibal understands that George is teasing his son, and he’s filled with a sensation not unlike glee at the realisation. George catches Hannibal’s eye and looks at his whiskey glass, it’s single sip missing. Though he’s comfortable teasing his son, it’s clear that Hannibal is an unknown quantity, and George is still uneasy over their visit.

“I assure you, Mister Graham, Will has never spoken ill of you. From what he’s said, you did your best, circumstances being what they were,” Hannibal says, maintaining eye contact and speaking in a soothing voice.

George makes a harrumphing sound, clearly more uncomfortable with this line of dialogue than with the fact that his son and his son’s cannibal lover are standing in his kitchen. “Well, it certainly wasn’t easy, for either of us, Doctor Lecter.”

“Hannibal, please.”

There’s a tense silence that falls over the kitchen, and then George, staring at his feet, says, “I guess it’s only proper, seeing as how you’ve taken up with my son.”

“ _Dad_ ,” Will says again, in that scandalised tone of voice that makes Hannibal grin wide. “Jesus Christ, can we not have this conversation? Look, we just need a place to lay low for a few hours.”

George makes a sweeping gesture with his hands. “Well, I guess you don’t need my permission for that, but if you’re asking, then you’ve got it.”

Will rubs a hand over his face. “Of course I’m asking. We didn’t--I didn’t come here--fuck, I knew this was a bad idea.”

Hannibal fights the urge to offer comfort, knowing instinctively that it would not be welcome in this moment. He instead takes another sip from his whiskey glass, swallowing against a snarl at the sting on his tongue.

“Hey, kiddo,” George says. His body moves as though he’s about to take a step forward, and then as if he’s going to reach out, but he does neither. “I uh...I can’t say it’s good to see you. We’d both know that was a lie. And I can’t see how this is the place for you to ‘lay low,’ situation being what it is. Gotta figure this’d be one of the first places they’d look for you and all…”

“They don’t know they’re looking for us,” Will says tersely.

George nods, shifting uneasily on his feet. “Okay, well. All I’m tryin’ to say is--well, your friend here is right--I did the best I could for you, and it wasn’t a whole hell of a lot. We both know that. If this is what you need right now, then it’s the least I can do for you.”

It is a generous offer, particularly if George was telling the truth when he said he’s kept up with the news surrounding his son. Yet Hannibal knows the man is sincere in this offer. It is unavoidable that Hannibal be reminded of his aunt and uncle, and their unspoken tolerance of his...habits. Family tends to take care of their own. Perhaps after this particular visit is only fair that Hannibal introduce Will to his family, in turn.

“That’s very generous of you, Mister Graham,” Hannibal says. 

“Well, like I said, least I can do,” George says. “It being Christmas and all.”

Hannibal sees Will in the uncomfortable slope of George’s shoulders, the way he rubs the back of his neck in his discomfort, his avoidance of their eyes. It is endearing and insightful, and Hannibal feels his love for Will swell uncomfortably, taking up ever more space.

He arches a brow at Will, who sighs and says, “Yeah, thanks, Dad.”

George darts another glance at Hannibal’s glass, then reaches out to take it right from his hands, then does the same with Will’s. “Ah, I can’t have Hannibal Lecter drinking this swill,” he says, almost as if he can’t believe the words coming from his own mouth. “Come on, I’ve got some Jameson reserve one of the guys on the boat got me for my 70th this past May.”

Will gives Hannibal a look that’s equal parts lost and warning, and they follow George down the hall to the living room. Hannibal makes a mental note to send him a bottle of Glenfiddich 50 Year as a thank you, once they’ve made their way to safety.


End file.
